Mother Earth

The Universe is vast with trillions of stars
And even more countless are the planets.
But the one that’s the most beautiful of all
Is the one that brought us into existence.

As the ladybug sleeps in the tree bark,
She wraps it in warmth and protects it.
And deep in the heart of the rainforests,
She taught spiders how to weave webs.

When a wildflower blooms in the velds,
It is She who fills it with sweet nectar.
And in the dry hot dunes of the desert,
She gave the camel a hump for water.

She birthed every creature big and small
And wove them all in the circle of Life.
And, in doing so, a lifeless space rock
Transformed into a world that’s alive.

She’s Mother Earth; She’s the connection.
Through Her, the Universe seeks expression.
Without Her, we’d be just specks of dust in motion.
With Her, we are the privileged ones – Her children.

The River

The river knows.
She withholds no secrets.
About all she has seen as she flows,
She spills the beans as the witness.

The fact that her speech is incomprehensible
Is a completely different matter.
As absurd as it may seem, this is possible –
All rivers have a voice that chatters.

Rivers also remember.
Not just the route they take,
But the people and events they encounter.
Memories are formed in their wake.

And when she can take it no more,
Her lyrical gurgling turns into a roar.
Waters rise as they overflow
In an effort to purge all that they store.

Then, everything in her path is cleansed
Even if it means resorting to Death.
Men, women, children, and animals
All succumb to their karmic debt.

When the floods subside, Life goes on.
The ones that are lost are forgotten.
The river reverts to her peaceful form
Preaching away to those who can listen.

The Garden

In the garden of my mind,
There grow flowers of every kind.
They bloom in all shades and hues
Mirroring my emotions and moods.

The Cockscomb, with its brilliant red
Screams of passion and excitement.
But as it stretches out in excess,
It brings anger and is dangerous.

And the dainty yellow Billy Buttons
Spread joy, warmth, and optimism.
But every so often, their color leads
To feelings of worry and anxiety.

A patch of Himalayan blue poppies
Gives root to loyalty and peace,
But at times, as they overgrow,
Loneliness and cold take their hold.

And the purple Lily of the Nile
Births ideas of the creative type.
Whereas the bright orange Lion’s Tail,
Spawns enthusiasm and friendliness.

There’re also the pink Anemones
They show playfulness and innocence.
And the White Egret Orchid is so elegant
As it exudes purity and truthfulness.

As a companion to all of these,
Abound leaves in shades of green.
Signaling growth and harmony,
They’re also the harbinger of envy.

The Black Bat Flower also survives.
In a secluded corner, it thrives.
Shrouded with powers and mysteries,
It can heighten sadness and fears.

In another spot is Miss Willmott’s Ghost
With its pale grey blossoms
Flourishing with authority and dignity,
Along with those, boredom, it breeds.

You’d say my garden is a pretty one
With every color under the Sun.
But I, and only I have come to know –
That which I heed to is that which will grow.

The Seed That I Sowed

While traversing through the woods one day,
I met an old and wrinkled woman on my way.
She said my luck would change for the better,
And gave a magic seed in exchange for my heifer.

Excited, I skipped to my home at top speed,
And in a pot with moist earth, planted the seed.
In a few days, I clapped with joy unbounded
When two tiny leaves shone as the seed sprouted.

I thought I should keep the pot on the window sill
So that the sunlight would help it grow as well.
But that night, I saw quite the scariest dream
In which the plant was stolen away by a thief.

Afraid, in another room, I hid the precious pot
Away from prying eyes in a safe secluded spot.
There, I poured a mug of water in it every day,
And for it to bear the magical fruit, I awaited.

Each day, I spoke to it about my soaring ambitions.
I was so in love with it as if it were my own creation.
Days passed, and the two leaves turned to four,
And, then, the entire plant turned a pale yellow.

The leaves fell, and the stem drooped and wilted.
It didn’t take me time to know that it was dead.
O! Woe! The magic with the plant was snuffed,
And the thing that did it in was – my excess love!

My love for the plant had transformed into greed.
My possessiveness and protectiveness had blinded me
To the extent that I could never recognize nor see
That it was actually smothering the life out of the seed.

A little sunshine and rain were all it needed
To grow and bear its magical fruits unheeded.
I wish I had understood this much much earlier,
But now I’d lost the magic … as well as my heifer.

The Mountains Are Calling, And I Must Go

Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow,
Through the darkness of this smog-ridden concrete city,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.

The voices voyage through valleys high and low
Inviting me to green meadows with flowers so pretty
Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow.

To a peaceful place where fresh, cool winds blow,
Where there’s no space for stress and negativity,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.

The mountains hold the warmth of the sun’s rosy glow,
And the leaves in the trees whisper a slow and soft ditty
Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow.

The winding trails reveal secrets I long to know.
As I seek to break through the hopelessness and self-pity,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.

This monotonous city life is so dreary and hollow
Like a drive on an unending desert trail that’s gritty.
Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.

PS: This poem is a Villanelle

The Party

Yes, there’s a party tonight!
And ….yes, you’re not invited!
Yes, there’ll be music and lights,
And conversations over wine.

For tonight, I will host
A special group of guests –
These are the ghosts
From my past, of myself!

To the child that was me,
I’d ask her to play more,
And to not so much worry
About grades and scores.

To my teenage self,
I’d tell her to laugh more,
And not really fret
Over the norms of the world.

To the young lady I was,
I’d tell her to love more,
And to take a pause
When it was needed most.

To me, in my middle age,
I’d tell her to spend more time
On things that mattered to her,
And she would just be fine.

Then, we’d all dance together
Having the time of our lives.
With no one to interfere or bother
Us till the wee morning light.

And I’d wave them all goodbye
As they’d travel through the ages
Leaving a feeling of peace behind
And the gift of self-compassion.

Hope

As the clock strikes three,
In the darkness of the night,
A frightful nightmare steals
Into my pair of sleepy eyes.

I’m walking in the forest
Stalked by animals wild.
Fear rises as they chase,
But I can’t run though I try.

And yet, against every odd,
I’m pushed into wakefulness,
And returned to this world
With a feeling of hopefulness.

Yes, hope is that brave knight
Who rides into all nightmares
Fighting valiantly against fright,
And rescuing people from scares.

And there is no well or storm
That can hinder his mission.
Be it a deep ocean or dark barn,
He defeats all ghastly villains.

And so, I go to bed each night
Unsure of what I may dream,
Yet, hoping to see the dawn’s light
Through the shivers and screams.

From My Dreams

A quaint little cottage on the hillside
With a warm fire burning in the hearth,
And a little window to peer outside.

A cozy rocking chair with a soft quilt,
And a mug of freshly brewed coffee
Placed on a small wooden side table.

A book about magic, fairies, and elves,
A carpet of verdant green in the vale,
The yonder hills wearing a misty veil.

And, me, curled up in that cozy chair
With no deadlines to chase that day,
Just taking in the fresh mountain air.

Sipping the hot coffee from the mug,
Reading, from the book, a happy tale
With my feet on a plush, woolly rug.

This is the place I visit when I sleep,
A place that’s warm, like your embrace,
This beautiful place is from my dreams.

A Wish for You

If there was one wish
That I could wish for you,

It would be for you to see the moon
As not just a rock, lifeless and cold,
But smiling with the light of love at you.

To hear the wind in the trees
As not just a rustling,
But playing a melodious symphony.

To see flowers in the meadow
As not just a splash of colors,
But saying hello as they bob to and fro.

To see the grass in the fields
As not just a scattering,
But doing the flamenco in the breeze.

To hear the birds chirp away
As not just a cacophony,
But singing all they want to say.

To not look at things just as they are,
But find a deeper meaning in them,
So that the awed child in your heart
Connects to all that Nature brings.

Whispers of a Forgotten Time

A forgotten scrapbook –
Of memories
Suddenly popped up in a nook
As I cleaned up the attic.

I sat down and flipped through it.
The pages were yellowish and worn,
And soon, I was transported
To a time long lost and gone.

Colorful stickers of fairies
From a time when magic existed;
Me and my friends wearing wide smiles
Posing in photos that were pasted.

Sketches of flowers and butterflies,
Oodles and oodles of doodles,
The Sun crayoned in the blue skies,
And streams meandering like noodles.

Yes, those were the days, indeed,
When dolls made of candy wrappings
And purses made of mango tree leaves
Brought me immense happiness.

With each page, I walked
Slowly down memory lane,
When deep within, I heard a whisper
Like someone speaking from far away.

“The joy you seek day after day
Is not in the things you chase,
But, inside you, it has always lain,
Waiting to be found from its hiding place.

There is no perfect place or time
For you to decide to be happy.
The phase you thought you’d left behind
Is a map for creating more memories.”

And this was what the voice spoke
As I sat with my scrapbook in the attic.
Enlightened, I was, as I arose
With a song on my lips and a beat in my step.

The Strength of a Promise

The night was shrouded in pitch black darkness.
Even the moon lay hidden under the cloudy blankets.
As, on one side of the steep and craggy mountain,
A small platoon of armed soldiers steadily ascended.

The post near the mountain pass lay ahead,
And from the infiltrators, it needed to be protected.
The soldiers advanced under the cover of camouflage,
And they battled the elements with each and every step.

As they neared the post, all hell broke loose.
Bullets zipped in the darkness towards the troops.
In return, they took aim and shot back at the enemy.
With courage, bravery, and strength, they retaliated forcefully.

They bothered not whether they were shot or bled.
The only way was forward, and that’s how they stepped.
Like a pride of lions, they roared and charged,
And with their might, they tore the enemy apart.

The rising Sun at dawn saw their flag fluttering high.
The post was safe, and the infiltrators slain at night.
The newspapers were flooded with the good news,
And, the leaders awarded prestigious medals to the troops.

And, when asked about the experience, all that they said
Was that it was possible due to the promise they’d made
The promise, to safeguard and protect their motherland,
Was stronger than the enemy and the highest mountains.

The Dawn’s Awake

Every dawn sings a brand new song –
A song full of hope and awakening.
The night is a memory long gone!

The birds flit, and they chirp along
As they welcome the rosy morning.
Every dawn sings a brand new song.

The Sun spreads a light so strong;
Darkness retreats with a hastening.
The night is a memory long gone!

The day is a chance to right the wrong.
As opportunities abound for the taking,
Every dawn sings a brand new song.

To this first light, let your soul belong.
Let it rejoice in the promise, unwavering.
The night is a memory long gone!

The shadows of Sorrow seem so long!
Let in the light, and see them weakening!
Every dawn sings a brand new song.
The night is a memory long gone!

PS: This poem is a Villanelle.